


In the Company of Mockingbirds

by stargategeek



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Birthday, F/M, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Modern AU, Office, Sex Club, Shameless Smut, Soulmates, Threesome - F/M/M, schemes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-04-29 03:39:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14464200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargategeek/pseuds/stargategeek
Summary: "So," Oberyn muttered into his ear. "Didn't I tell you I'd show you a good time?"Petyr laughed, turning his head towards him slightly."You know," he grunted a little bit. "When you said we were going to have fun, this..." Another hitch. "...was not what I had in mind."





	1. Chapter 1

"So," Oberyn muttered into his ear. "Didn't I tell you I'd show you a good time?"

Petyr laughed, turning his head towards him slightly.

"You know," he grunted a little bit. "When you said we were going to have fun, this..." Another hitch. "...was not what I had in mind."

"No," Oberyn leaned down, resting his head on Petyr's shoulder. "It's better."

His hand weaved around and clasped the back of Petyr's head to bring his face within a hair's breadth of his lips.

"Obie," Petyr muttered with a mock threat.

He ignored the threat entirely, kissing the man harshly with a little bit of tongue. A groan broke the two apart.

"Obie!" Ellaria cried. "If you keep on distracting him we're going to be here all night!"

Oberyn finally pulled away from Petyr with a smirk. "And your point is?"

"My knees are starting to ache," she teased back.

Petyr could've laughed, in fact he did, heartily, when Oberyn revealed his plans for the evenings activities. It was just like Oberyn to choose something that more suited his pleasures than Petyr's and then call it a birthday present. Petyr was naked, not a state Petyr enjoyed (due to the scar that marred his chest throat to groin) but allowed it because it was Obie, and Obie loved it when Petyr let him strip him bare. Being as small as he was, he was quite trapped with Obie's arms locked lovingly around his chest, holding him in place.  
It didn't help that Obie was just as naked and nearly almost harder.

Ellaria grinned at the two of them, her eyes flickering briefly to Obie who nodded his head imperceptibly, his hand ghosting to one of Petyr's nipples, teasing it. Ellaria smirked before taking Petyr's half-hard cock back into her mouth.

Petyr flinched slightly, but Obie held fast. He let out something between a laugh and a grunt. "Oh, why can't I have normal friends," he leant back against Obie's chest as Ellaria began to tease him with her hands.

"What fun would that be?" Obie whispered into his ear.

"Well for one, they would at least take me out to dinner first."

Ellaria pulled back with a wet splurge. "We do that too. Obie simply wanted you to work up an appetite first."

Obie hissed at her. "That was supposed to be a surprise," he looked at Petyr. "What, you think this was all you had to look forward to, my love." He squeezed Petyr in a rather affectionate way despite the circumstances. "I got reservations at that place you like."

"Rooftop table?" Petyr perked up with a grin.

"Petyr, please," Obie rolled his eyes. "And if you come like a good boy I'll even deign to purchase a bottle of your favourite wine, despite it being an affront to my Dornish senses."

"Can we get ice cream?" Petyr teased, making himself sound almost childish, adding another sordid layer to the whole situation.

"Anything you want, birthday boy," Obie kissed his neck, and nuzzled the tender flesh under his jaw.

"To be honest, you should've opened with that, might've gotten me more excited."

"It's never too late," Obie said distractedly, his mind on his own pleasure, as he lowered one hand from Petyr's chest to the cleft of his ass, gently spreading his legs a little wider with his foot. "May I?" he asks softly, nipping Petyr's ear.

"You can, but it will cost you at least two bottles," Petyr leaned over and teasingly pecked Obie's cheek.

Obie groaned deeply. "Oh, I will buy you a whole fucking case!"

"Get on with it," Ellaria grunted around Petyr's cock.

Petyr laughed, relaxing a little in Obie's grip as Obie gently lubed himself up and slid inside with a satisfied moan.

"Ooh baby, that's a nice ass," Obie sighed. "It's such a shame I'm the only one who gets to play with it."

He thrusted tentatively, jerking Petyr a little forward into Ellaria's mouth, causing her to moan deep in her throat, her eyes crinkling in a pleasurable smile.

Obie's arms returned around Petyr's waist, as he continued to move slowly within him.

"Obie," Petyr muttered huskily. "This still doesn't count as a present."

Obie sniggered against his shoulder.

"Consider it a precursor then, to what's about to come," Obie's face blossomed open with the most shit-eating grin ever seen on a man. He reached over and kissed him again.

"Happy Birthday, Petyr," he whispered.

"I-" Suddenly, Petyr's face screwed up and his head fell back on to Obie's shoulder, his mouth dropping in a silent moan.

Obie grinned, patting Petyr's chest with one hand, rocking him soothingly as Ellaria sucked Petyr's fluids down furiously. "That's it, good boy, let it all out, just like that."

~~~~

Petyr was limping slightly the following Monday as he walked into the office. His whole body ached from the after-effects of his outrageous birthday weekend. His head felt splintered and his hips and lower back protested every single movement he tried to make.

That was it, he thought to himself. No more Coke and Obie cocktails. He was officially too old for this.

Petyr tenderly sat down at his office chair, his ass sore from Oberyn's excessive plundering of it the night before.

It's to be said that Petyr is not himself attracted to men, never had been, but he would on occasion jokingly refer to himself as being Obie-sexual. He had always been attracted to Obie's weird combination of self-destructive sexual voracity and cuddly hedonism - and Obie enjoyed the challenge.

"Good morning, Mr. Baelish," his secretary stepped into his office. "Anything I can get for the birthday boy."

Petyr looked up quizzically.

"Martell," she answered his unvoiced question. "Wanted me to order you a stripper gram as a birthday present. I didn't, by the way, but thank you for not telling me about you reaching the big 4-0."

"Don't take it too personally. I don't tell anybody."

"You told Oberyn."

"He's the reason why I don't tell anybody."

She laughed. "Alright, I get it! Your secret is safe with me," she placed her hands on the desk, leaning forward slightly, her breasts just peeking out the top of her seemingly tasteful blouse. "At least allow me to get something for you."

"Oh coffee," he groaned, looking up at her with appreciation. "A big one. No, just bring me the pot. And an Advil."

"Would you also like a cushion?" He gave her a look. "I saw you limping," she teased.

"Just the coffee, please," he said humourlessly.

She smiled and winked at him. "Yes, sir."

Petyr eyed her as she walked out of his office with that cheeky grin on her face, as if she had any idea what went on that weekend. Everyone in the office had their theory about the weird relationship between Mr. Baelish and Mr. Martell. Petyr had heard the gambit of rumours, from them being lovers to them plotting to overthrow the company. The sad fact was, every rumour and story, it was all true, and none of it was true. It was Obie.

Speak of the devil.

"You have to know that I find your discomfort a source of pride," he was leaning against the door frame with a large mug in his hand.

"I know you do, that's why you do it."

"You had fun."

"I was high."

"And that's not fun?" Obie stepped into the room, taking a seat in the leather chair in front of Petyr's desk.

"That's not the point," Petyr looked up at him with a glare.

"I was high too, why do you think I couldn't keep my hands off your gorgeous ass."

Petyr laughed suddenly, throwing down his pen. "I can't! I can't even stay mad at you, you fucking bastard!"

"I know," Obie grinned widely, placing the cup in his hands on the desk in front of Petyr. "Now drink up, we have a board meeting in fifteen minutes, and knowing you this is going to go right through you. So drink, piss, wash your hands, and then sit across from me in the board room so I can play footsies with you."

"No! No, no, no! You are not doing that to me again!"

"You have to admit holding off your orgasm until the room cleared out made the meeting go by so much faster."

"That was the most mortifying experience you have ever put me through."

"But how else can I entertain myself during those meetings. Baratheon slurs, Selmy is a buzzkill, and the Imp is mentally planning his next masturbation session. I can see these things, it's in their eyes."

"Doodle," Petyr greedily snatched the cup and drank it down.

"Shall I draw you a picture?" Obie said coyly.

"Mm-hmmm, something nice," Petyr mumbled around the rim of his cup.

"Fine," he relented, tossing his hands back and fully reclining into the chair. "By the way, can I stay over at your place tonight?"

"Ellie finally throw you out," Petyr teased.

Obie shook his head. "Girl's night."

"Girl's night as in girl's night or girl's night as in Girl's Night," Petyr waggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing Obie to smirk.

"Bara's home from university for a few weeks, they're having a popcorn, panties, and period party. I'm not invited," Obie's face dropped down as he let out a sigh. One would think it would be a mock sadness, but Petyr knew Obie, Obie hated being left out of anything, especially when it came to his girls. "You'd think with all the women I fuck one of them would get pregnant with a boy, if only to give me some company when the girls kick me out of the house."

"Why would Ellaria have to breed you a male companion, you've already got me," Petyr smirked.

"Touché," he shrugged, his grin returning. "I do make very pretty girls."

"Indeed," Petyr looked down at the contract sitting in front of him.

Obie smirked and eyed Petyr for a moment, before sitting up and shaking out his hands. "When the ban is lifted you should come over for dinner, while my Bara-bear is in town. You know Ellie would love to have you, and the girls adore you, you are like their uncle, but without all the authority."

Petyr laughed. "I severely doubt anyone could have any authority over those girls. You certainly don't."

"I can't help it. A pretty girl is in need of something I must give it to her. It is only right. My girls have never been denied anything."

"I'll think about it."

"No, you're coming, I'll have Ell text you the details. If you think about it you will inevitably find a reason to stay at home alone, being all depressive and shit, like you normally do. No, you're coming for dinner whether I have to drag your sorry ass there or not."

"Fine! Fine! I'll clear my schedule."

"Ha! What's to clear? You work, you go home, you eat, you shit, you sleep, you wake up and you go right back to work. You have no other schedule than that unless I physically come in and pull you out."

Petyr averted his friends gaze and looked down at his mug. It was true, his life consisted of very little other than work and the occasional Obie escapade. Unlike Obie he had no wife, no paramour, no children, no one, not since...he shook his head, now was not the time to dwell on that.

"You're right," Petyr said after a moment, his head lifting to look Obie in the eye once again. "This coffee has moved right through me." He stood up, trying not to wince too much from the soreness in his rear. "I'm just going to...relieve myself before this blasted meeting. I will see you in there."

Petyr quickly moved out of his office, as quick as his sore body would let him, and briskly walked into the bathroom.

He stood at the urinal stall closest to the wall and sighed, unzipping his trousers and shaking himself out of his fly, encouraging the measley trickle to come if only for the distraction. He rested his head against the wall. The coffee had helped with the headache but he still had a steady dull thrum right behind his eyes.

Forty, he was forty. Forty years old and this was all his life had amounted to. All his fortieth birthday meant, aside from a few more wrinkles and a few more grey hairs, was that it actually had been twenty years. Twenty years since he last saw her. Twenty years alone.

His eyes slipped closed for a moment, the throbbing moving to the back of his skull as an even deeper ache emerged to the surface. The sweet smell of summer; honey suckles, clover, her hair glittering in the reflections of the water. Her laughter just before a warm sensual kiss. It was all so long ago. Petyr winced at the feel of the stab of the knife, and the sting in his chest. The bitter accompaniment to such sweet memories. It was all so long ago.  
But still, he could remember it like it was yesterday, and it was a small comfort how little it’s lustre had faded over time. To this day he could still conjure up the heat of her touch and the feel of her kiss and it was enough to get him stirring a little, and it was more therapeutic than any of Obie’s fuck sessions any day.

“Oh excuse me,” a small voice had him launching back to the present, standing in the men’s room urinals. He turned his face to tell whoever it was that this was the men's room and that it was obviously occupied, but what he saw struck him dumb - not a wide-eyed red-faced intern, as he had assumed - but the living breathing spectre of the girl he once knew.

“I am so sorry,” this phantasm seemed to say, shielding her blush with her hand. It was as if she had been born right out of his past into his waking present. The ghost of his childhood standing there, eyes as wide as saucers. Every function he had seemed to stop working simultaneously. “You…uhhh—“

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize, I…” she stopped, her gaze drifting down. What? What was wrong? What was she staring at?

He followed her gaze to where his cock still hung limply out of his fly.

He looked back up, still too dumb to speak or move…still hoping he’d had an aneurism while taking a piss and was actually lying dead on the bathroom floor instead of being here, looking at her.

A bright crimson blush stained her cheeks. No such luck for him.

“I am so sorry.” The woman, the spectre, turned and darted very quickly out of the bathroom, leaving him stunned in her wake.

“Oh fucking shit!” He finally cried. Loudly. His hand came to clutch at his heart. What the fuck was that? Who the hell? He sank against the wall of the bathroom, feeling like he was having an arrhythmia. Was that…no, it couldn’t be….but it looked just like her, every inch, from those wide blue eyes, that exact shade of red, to those delicate pink lips…gaped open in shock. In shock…

“Oh shit,” he looked down to his still wide open fly. Oh please say he wasn’t hard...no please, not here, not in the men’s room like a weirdo. To his great relief he wasn’t, and without much preamble he tucked himself back in and did up his fly. His heart was still beating rapidly and the blood felt sluggish in his veins. On shaking legs he made it over to the sink and nearly collapsed on to it. Fists clutched till they turned white over the black marble edge, and his eyes met his reflections. In his mind he had never looked so old. The grey in his hair, the lines under his eyes, he looked forty.

Shit, he was forty.

~~~~

Petyr rushed into the boardroom still wiping his hands with a balled up wad of paper towel. He took a seat next to Oberyn who was sitting at the far end of the table, eating nuts out of a bag.

“Obie,” Peter grabbed the man’s arm, clutching it tightly.

“Fucking hell, Petyr, did you nod off at the urinal again?” Oberyn teased, tossing a nut in the air and catching it in his mouth. He sat up with a glint in his eye. “The meeting is about to start. I have a great idea about how we can pass the time…”

“Shut up Obie, and listen,” Petyr hissed. “I saw her.”

“Her who?

“Her. Her!”

“You saw her?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not following.”

“It was like no time had passed at all, she was still the same age she was when I last saw her.”

“Oh her!” Obie smiled, finally clueing in. Except…  
“Like actually her, or did I put too much Molly in the coffee again.”

Petyr frowned. “You didn’t?”

Obie gave him a shit eating grin. “I thought about it.”

“No, she was real. I saw her in the Men’s toilets.”

“You’re not making a very good case against the Molly.”

“She wandered in…obviously thought it was the Ladies or…I don’t know what the fuck. But she was real, she wasn’t a figment of my imagination. Even I wouldn’t dream up something so fucked up as that.”

“As what?”

“As the girl I have loved my entire life walking in on me taking a piss in the Men’s with my cock half out my trousers.”

“Are you sure that was all you were doing?" Obie teased, picking up Petyr’s hands and examining them. “Hairy palms, hmmm?”

“Obie, listen! It was her. I nearly had a heart attack, it was her.”

“Oh how could it be? You haven’t seen her for twenty years, and she was nearly two years older than you. She would be in her forties now, she’d have wrinkles and grey hair and shit. It wasn’t her. Maybe someone who looked very much like her, but it wasn’t her. You’re getting yourself all excited for nothing."

"If we weren't in a meeting I'd ask you to feel my heart, it's still thrumming," Petyr placed a hand on his chest, adjusting his neck tie.  
Obie reached a hand over his left nipple and gave an experimental squeeze.

"Feels ok to me," Obie shrugged. Petyr swatted him off, pulling his suit jacket around him. "Oh you're unbearable like this, I can't stand it, all pouty and cross, you have no idea how you look. I just want to eat you."

Petyr shifted away, his scowl furrowing even deeper. It was no use trying to talk to Obie when he was horny, it was like trying to talk politics to a hungry toddler.

It didn't matter anyway, the doors to the boardroom opened and the President and CEO of Westeros Corp, Robert Baratheon traipsed in trying to look as serious and as put together as possible, despite the crumbs on his shoulder, and no doubt the slight hint of whiskey on his breath.

~~~~

Perhaps Obie was right, maybe he was just overthinking it. It was because of his birthday, and his age; the big number causing him to be overly reflective. She was probably just some average red-haired woman with blue eyes and his sleepy nostalgic urinal cake haze had made him supplement her with all the features he had wished to see.

All these years he’d never actually asked himself what he would do if he ever saw her again. Obie was right, she wouldn’t be that summer girl he had known anymore, not after twenty years. Obie was always right it seems.

Petyr trudged out of the board room, his head still pounding. God, he needed a drink. He brought his hands heavily over his face as he limped down the long hallway back to his office, already planning to make as many excuses so to not see anyone but his secretary for the rest of the day. He wanted to bury himself in paperwork and forget this whole day; this whole week; this whole LIFE!

“Baelish!” a rough hand clapped him on the shoulder. A belch, and the faint smell of whiskey told him who it was before he even had to turn and see.

“Robert,” he feigned a smile.

“You look like you had a rough night, too much fun at the club, eh?” Robert elbowed him hard in the side and gave him a dirty wink, like a perverted brunette Santa Claus.

“Nothing quite as adventurous, I’m afraid, just the perils of growing old,” Petyr shrugged, suddenly desperate for a cup of coffee and a hammer.

Robert’s death grip on his shoulder kept him from retreating, and the rotund man shook him vigorously. He cackled and smacked him hard in the shoulder, dragging him away from his divine destination and down another corridor.

“Tell me Baelish, my master of finances. I was hoping there may be room in the budget for...”

A sudden loud crash from the office a few doors down from them stopped Robert Baratheon in his blathering request. “Room in the budget” was code for “let’s have a party” and “let’s have a party” was code for “Bring on the girls!!”

“What the bleeding hell,” Robert muttered, finally releasing his grip on Petyr to march a few steps ahead. “What are you bloody doing you fucking nitwit!”

The outburst caused a few heads to turn, but it was coming from Robert - most had learned to tune it out by now.

He disappeared inside the office for a moment, only to re-emerge seconds later, a smile on his face like nothing happened.

“Baelish!” he waved Petyr over. “You’ve met my son, Joff, before, right?”

A lanky blonde haired weasel of a kid stepped out from the office. His suit was a bright burgundy red, tailored, with a navy blue shirt. He looked like a fucking trust fund poster child.

“I believe at some function or another,” Petyr nodded, holding his hand out for the boy to shake. The little Baratheon looked at the hand in distaste, not bothering to remove his own from his trouser pocket.

“Just graduated from university last month, with honours,” Robert continued in a show of loud pride.

“Oh, really,” Petyr tried to act impressed, but even the guys down in the mailroom knew those honours were bought and paid for by Daddy Baratheon and Mama Lannister. Of course he graduated, he probably didn’t even show up to class.

“Business degree,” the blonde chimes in with a smirk.

“We’re starting him off as a junior executive. I plan to retire in five years, and I want him all set up to take my place when the time comes. Keep it in the family, you know.”

“I see,” Petyr feigned another smile.

“Mr. Baelish is our head of finances. A fucking wizard!”

“You’re the guy with the whor-“

The large man brought his hand up so fast to swat the boy in the back of the head, his eyes almost bulged.

“Ow! Fuck!” cried the little brat.

“Show some goddamn tact, boy!” Robert hissed. “We don’t talk about a man’s private business within these walls, you hear me.”

The young Baratheon begrudgingly clamped his lips together and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The space between the three of them became almost unbearably awkward. Robert forcing a smile to cover for his sons blunder, Joffrey fuming and embarrassed, and Petyr wishing he could just evaporate and die.

“I think I found the documents you were looking for...oh...”

Petyr turned at the interruption - that voice - his heart stopped beating at once the moment he caught sight of red.

There she was, coming up the hallway in a simple navy skirt and blazer, with a light pink blouse and black kitten heels. She looked like she had wandered in from Tiffany’s wondering where the lift was. Her bright red hair billowed in flowing fiery waves, and her eyes were the most decadently innocent shade of blue.

So she wasn’t a hallucination.

“I’m so sorry,” she flushed again, noticing who he was and whose company he was in.

Petyr stared at her in awe once again. His childhood careening back into his present like a runaway train. How could she exist once again?

“Am I interrupting?” she asked in a soft, girlish way. It was a wonder she didn’t chew her lip and curl the end of one of her locks around her pointer finger. She was so delicate, like a virginal rabbit.

“Get the fuck out, Sans,” Joff spat, earning another smack from his father.

“Joff!” he hissed. “No, sweet girl, no interruption at all. I was just introducing our head of finances, Mr. Baelish.”

She looked over to Petyr, a blush blossoming in the skin of her cheekbones. God she was embarrassed by him...or perhaps for him. He couldn’t tell. She held her hand out to him and he couldn’t help but stare.

“This lovely creature is to be my daughter-in-law, and is also my son’s temporary secretary. The beautiful Miss Sansa Stark.”

“S-Stark?” It all began to click in Petyr’s mind, hearing that name. The red hair, the eyes, the haunting familiarity, the name. “Your Cat’s daughter.”

Sansa seemed to smile at that, her hand still extended, hanging out in the space between.

“You know my mother?” she asked, a pleasing lilt to her voice. God, she truly was the spitting image.

“Ahh...” Petyr almost seemed to laugh, though another part of him wanted to wince. “I think knew would be more appropriate. I knew her. Once.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, before she got...yeah before,” he winced inwardly, trying not to berate himself from sounding like a fucking fool.

Baratheon made a little cough, garnering Petyr’s attention. With a little flick of his eyebrow, he drew Petyr’s attention back down to the hand still offered up to him that he had been too dumbstruck to respond to.

“Oh, sorry,” Petyr grasped the hand and shook it with a well rehearsed, three shake movement and release. “Petyr Baelish.”

“Nice to meet you...formally this time,” she smiled at him, and he felt himself go cold.

“You’ve met before?” Baratheon nearly bellowed, bemused and confused.

“Only like an hour ago, we kind of awkwardly ran into each other near the toilets,” she tucked her hair behind her ear, coyly.

Now Petyr felt his blood run hot. That little two-faced Minx.

“Oh brother!” Baratheon clapped him hard on the shoulder again, laughing. “You didn’t have your cock out, did you?”

Sansa laughed, clutching the file in her hands close to her breast as she smirked and averted her blue eyes to the floor.

“Hey!” Joff hissed, indignantly.

“No, I was...I was just on my way to the board meeting and I nearly clipped her in my haste.”

“It’s alright,” Sansa quickly picked up the lie. “I only lost one or two files in the kerfuffle.”

“Hopefully there won’t be any bruises,” Petyr added with a laugh.

Sansa tucked her hair behind her head as she laughed as well. Petyr’s already slamming heart now seemed to be going into some sort of aeortic dubstep. A small smile quirked her lips, seemingly just for him...or perhaps she was still embarrassed. Thankfully she had enough tact to play off the story of a collision rather than the all out implosion their meeting in the bathroom had been - at least for him.

Robert seemed blissfully obtuse to the entire interaction. His mind already lost on booze and tits. Joffrey however looked between them with sharp beady eyes, glowering in a full scowl.

“I must apologize for my fiancé,” he said tightly, emphasis on the fiancé. “She’s a clumsy little bitch.”

This time Sansa averted her gaze out of her own embarrassment.  
“I should go,” Sansa said softly, still averting her eyes. “It was nice to meet you...Mr. Baelish,” those eyes lifted just long enough to give him a reassuring smile.

As she passed Joffrey’s hand quickly sprang put to grab her harshly by the arm, tugging her to him possessively. He gave a brief kiss, a claiming gesture for Petyr’s benefit - restating what he believed was rightly and truly his. He pulled back, looking at her coldly. “Now get going,” his tone was biting. Sansa pulled out of the embrace looking even more embarrassed than before. When she turned to leave he smacked her on the ass with a cruel little laugh.

She did not turn back but continued walking with her head held high - strong purposeful strides, and the slightest nearly imperceptible shake in her shoulders.

But Petyr noticed.

Robert finally spluttered back into the conversation. “Yes, yes! Speaking of introductions, I plan to make my son’s formal introduction at the company soirée tomorrow. As I was about to ask Baelish. I wonder if there is room in the budget...”

Oberyn had always had the gift of barrelling into a situation completely unawares at exactly the right moment.

“Ahh there you are Petyr!” his big tanned head suddenly peeked over the walls of one of the cubicles.  
He was suddenly incredibly close, a fake document in hand. “I need your delicate _expertise_ on a thing of _great importance_.”

Good god, Obie.

This was their code for getting each other out of uncomfortable conversations with Robert. For the most part they managed to weave legitimate excuses with a touch of fabricated whimsy enough to seem like they genuinely had to run off and deal with something important. Evidently, today, Obie was feeling playful.

“Oh Robert, didn’t see you there. I’m sorry. Am I interrupting?”

“Well, ye-“

“Anyway, having some _constraints_ on my _budget._ Hoping Mr. Baelish can work some _magic_ with a couple of _strokes_. You know, for our upcoming campaign. We won’t keep you, Mr Baratheon, we know you’re a busy man.” Obie began tugging Petyr away by the lapels.

“Who’s this fuck?” Joffrey hissed.

“Ah, aren’t you the young spitting image of the Stag himself,” Oberyn grabbed the boy’s free hand and shook it hard, jostling the young blonde weasel. “Like father like son, following in his footsteps eh?”

“Who the fuck are you?” Joff spat, his entire right arm now in a state of shock. That was the Obie Effect. He came in like an A-Bomb.

“This is Martell, Head of Marketing,” Robert clapped Obie on the shoulder.

“Also defacto PR representative.”

“He’s sleeping with her,” Petyr added contextually.

“Hey, what’s good for the firm is good for me,” Obie shrugged. “Speaking of which, I need your help with that thing I mentioned,” he began tugging on Petyr’s lapel.

“Well, actually -“ Robert started once more.

“I was just leaving,” Joffrey interrupted. “Still getting my office in order. Seeing as I’ll be starting as a Junior Executive next week. I guess I’m technically your new boss,” he grinned. The smug arrogance of a trust fund douche pimp. “Have fun sorting out your _issues_.” He turned and left, no doubt thinking he won that particular interaction. First day, putting two department heads in their places. Such an irritating abrasive little asshole. But Petyr saw, in the back of those beady little eyes, a small amount of relief. Maybe the whoremonger did not sample his own wares because his tastes were for something a bit more robust. Maybe the rumours in the mailroom about the two male department heads who were always _touching each other_ were absolutely true. Maybe he the man who had clipped his Sansa outside the Men's Toilets was a complete non-threat and his darling fiancé was completely safe. Maybe Joffrey Baratheon was a fucking idiot.

“Ah, yes, before you go Baelish...”

“Ahh, the thing,” Obie held up the document in his hand. “We’ve gotta get this sorted ASAP. Good day Mr.  
B!” Obie tugged Petyr down the hall, back to their offices.

“But I...”

“Im so sorry, Baratheon. Time sensitive issue. Send me a memo and I’ll get back to you.” They walked away briskly, like a pair of mischievous teenage girls outsmarting the principal.

“Mr. Baratheon, I have some papers that needs your signature.”

Petyr stopped at her voice, turning around to see her red hair once again. Something in him lurched. _God, every time_. Oberyn turned and saw the spectre too. The red hair, the blue eyes. _Holy shit._ His jaw dropped.

“Oh Martell, have you met my son’s fiancé Miss Stark?”

“Stark?” his jaw dropped even more. He looked over to Petyr. “Is that?” he started to say. Petyr sheepishly nodded. “She’s the fucking spitting image of—“ Petyr clamped his hand over Obie’s mouth, before he attracted anymore attention. “Excuse us. Later Baratheon. Good day Miss Stark.”

He dragged Obie in the direction of his office, amidst his protests and stutterings. He shoved him inside and slammed the door.

After a moment he turned from the shut door to look at Obie, standing stark in the middle of his office. “What the fuck?”

“I told you it was her.”


	2. Chapter 2

_God...he was forty._

He poured himself a glass of the good port, the stuff he kept locked away in his office. Even away from Obie. His private collection.

He drank and kept the lights low and moody. Obie called it his “Brood Lighting.” Petyr had always had the tendency to brood. Well, at least, ever since...

He poured himself another glass.

On the set of keys dangling between his fingers there was one small one. It was barely used, and if anybody ever saw it they would most likely assume it was for a safety deposit box or a secret P/O box for the club kept under some alias. Something secretive and shady as hell. Most didn’t think on it at all, as unassuming as it was. Most people didn’t spend time obsessing over other people’s keys.

Tonight, he plucked the key out of its ring and lowered himself to his knees at the foot of his desk. The bottom drawer slid open easily, and he quickly lifted the few files resting inside and ran his finger along the bottom to find the catch that revealed the drawer’s false bottom.

Obie was so nosy, Petyr found this was the only way that he could truly keep a few small things to himself. Inside the false bottom was a small wooden memory box with a padlock, keeping its contents shut away inside. Petyr places it carefully on the desk and returned the false bottom to its place and the files on top of it, shutting the drawer.

God, he put this in here the day he got the desk, which was the day before the club opened almost ten years ago. It was like unearthing a time capsule. The small key fit into the padlock, and the tumblers moved with ease, snapping the lock open with an audible click.

After placing the padlock and key carefully to the side he gently lifted the lid. The box creaked on unused hinges, but there was surprisingly little dust. Inside his collection remained, as pristine as the day he had locked them away. Faded tickets to a Ferris Wheel; a small coin nearly rubbed smooth, and a stack of worn photographs - all of the same red-haired girl, and her little companion.

Petyr picked up the stack, flipping through the pictures one by one. Each one hit him with the memory of her.

He took a swig of his port.

There she was swinging freely on the tire swing that hang off the sturdy bow of the largest willow, right over the roiling banks of the river. He could still hear her laughter; how she loved that swing. How she loved it when he would wade out into the water with his pants hiked up to his knees, so that he could take the perfect photo. The two of them lying on a large rock, heated by the sun. The picture of them hunting for frogs, holding up their slippery captives in their muddy hands. He could smell the lilacs, and the daisies, and the mud, and all of it wafted into his mind. It touched the back of his tongue and slipped into the crevices of his lungs before settling deep into the heart of him, deepening the warm bitter ache forming there.

More photographs. They got older, his hair got longer, she got even more beautiful and vivacious. Every photo a freeze frame on a look of pure delight.

He stirred. He waned. He ached. A constant tide.

One photograph he plucked out of the stack. The kiss. From the angle he knew she had taken the photo. The photo had been for him, to remember their summer by. And it had been their summer. At the time it had held the promise of many more summers, but in reality it had been an ending, a consolation prize of sorts.

His chest burned.

He was fucking forty.

He had made it twenty years without his summer girl, and yet the ache was still as fresh and raw as the first.

_God, why did her daughter - her ghost - have to wind up at Westeros Corp. Why now? Why when he was fucking forty?_

That red hair, those beautiful pink lips, gaped open, and moist...and what the fuck was he doing?

He dropped the photo from his hand, suddenly remembering why he had locked all these memories away. He pressed his hand into his chest, over the scar to alleviate the burn. God, how was it possible to still want someone this badly.

He downed the rest of his glass and placed everything back into the box and locked it, shoving it back into the drawer and slamming it closed.

 _Goddammit you’re forty now, man. Get over it!_ He berated himself, running his hand through his hair and scratching his scalp.

Fuck it, he was not in the mood for all this. He put the port back in its place and locked the cabinet, and grabbed his coat from where it hang behind his chair.

Stepping out of the quiet of his office he passed through a dark, empty corridor, pulsing with the faded heart beats thumping unce unce unce against the walls. He produced a pass key from his back pocket and tapped it against a pad near the door. The door opened and Petyr was suddenly amassed by a wall of sound.

The club was in full swing, the music loud, the alcohol flowing, the girls dancing, the people fucking. Just another Monday Night for the seedy underworld of the sex industry. Petyr weaved through the crowds unaffected by what he saw. It was all just business to him. Any and all tastes were catered to anyone willing to pay. Up the stairs were the private rooms, bought for a heady sum, but if you could stand a little exhibitionism or were too drunk to care, every surface but the bar was available to get your rocks off with any willing companion.

Petyr made for the bar, leaning into the handsome blonde bartender, and passing him an extra fiver. The man poured him a drink and pointed up the stairs to the booths.

As he passed the bar, an exotic girl, her breasts exposed, stopped him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Happy Birthday Boss!” she yelled into his ear.

He smiled bashfully, and nodded his head.

“You sure you don’t want a birthday bump?” she teased. “I believe you get forty.”

Petyr laughed. “The kiss will do just fine enough.”

“I should’ve given you a better kiss,” she laughed and walked away, entreating her ample bosom to a much more interested - paying - customer.

Petyr made his way up the stairs to the booth he knew Obie would be in, preoccupied.

Obie currently had a tantalizing creature situated in his lap. Not one of Petyr’s, just a girl playing the fantasy. Snorting a line of coke, no doubt while her hand snakes into Obie’s trousers.

“Petyr!” Oberyn grinned widely as Petyr approached. “Ahh, Petyr this is Jasmine, Jasmine this is Petyr.”

“Ahh, the birthday boy,” she smiled blearily at him. “Congrats.”

“It was a few days ago,” Petyr smiled tightly, fishing a drink ticket from his pocket. “Jasmine, you look positively parched, why don’t you go fix yourself a drink down at the bar. On me.”

“Ooh, he’s generous...I like him—“ she dissolved into a series coke-induced giggles, snatching the ticket greedily and quickly sauntering away.

“What did I do this time?” Oberyn sighed, crossing his arms.

“Stop telling my staff how old I am.”

“Oh for fucks sake. You’re a dilf. Get over it,” Obie laughed, shooting back his glass of whiskey. He winced. “Where the fuck do you keep the good stuff?”

“I assume this is your way of trying to cheer me up.”

“I take it, it isn’t working, hmm?” Obie slumped further into his seat, his hand resting on his tented crotch. “I don’t get it, Petyr. You are living every man’s dream. You own a freaking underground sex club. That’s what fantasies are built upon.”

“I don’t shit where I eat, it’s bad for business.”

“Ahh yes, and neither do you sample your own wares,” Obie’s swipes his finger through the cocaine remnants resting on the surface of the glass table.

“Call it the Scarface Principle,” Petyr finishes his drink in one gulp, and began slipping his arms through the sleeves of his jacket.

“You leaving?” Obie sat up, his face dropping. “But we were supposed to have fun tonight.”

“I have a headache,” he sighed. “Plus early morning budget meeting with all the department heads, I still have some bullet points to prepare. You stay out, have a good time, you have the spare keycard, just don’t bring the club back with you.”

“Hey,” Obie grabbed his wrist. “Don’t let that girl shake you. I know you, and you are worrying me, Petyr.”

“I’m fine.”

Petyr released his hand and began walking towards the exit.

“For the record, you are never fine, when you say you are fine!”

Petyr waved him off and slipped into the elevator, pressing the button for the parking garage.

Once in his car he let out a long exhale, a flash of red crossing his vision. Why did she have to exist again? Why did she have to always find some way to crawl herself back into his existence. He was beginning to feel he would never be rid of her.

Especially not now since she has been reincarnated into the body of a beautiful, young, fresh-faced secretary.

Goddammit!

He slammed the wheel so hard the horn went off, spooking a couple fucking in a nearby car.

~~~~

Petyr poured himself another drink, a calvados from his stash in the bar. Ice. Something light. It wasn’t quite the time of the evening to break into the really good stuff.

He snatched a coaster, and placed the glass on the lid of his baby grand piano. His hands danced over the keys in an almost lazy ease. Fingers just touching the keys to produce a tinkling melancholy melody. Something formless, shapeless. An expression of feeling rather than a song. He always turned to jazz when he was blue. Not to be a cliche - but the sleepy, tinkly notes were just the right kind of sad for him. He never sang though, he made a point of it - as soon as you sang you became a show pony. “Oh yes, sing us some of that Cole Porter, Let’s Misbehave.” He bemused himself with the idea someone peeking their head up from a delectable cunt to request “Anything Goes, with an upbeat tempo.”

No, he decided very early on. No singing. He was not an entertainer, that’s what the girls were for. He was merely the worlds greatest host for carnal delights. He set up the banquet and let his guests feast. Though he rarely delighted in them himself.

His fingers shifted all on their own and began playing something completely different, a muscle memory. The red hair, the laugh, the sigh.

_“What the fuck are we listening to, Petyr?”_

_“It’s a jazz standard.”_

_A sigh. “You’re so pretentious.”_

Petyr smiled to himself, continuing to play. The memory was as warm as the booze.

“ _Softly Petyr, Please.”_

_“Uh huh.”_

_A hitch. “Kiss me softly.”_

_“Always.”_

He stopped playing, his hands hovering over the keys. Why did he do this to himself?

The left hand shook imperceptibly. Damn this piano, and damn this music, he thought.

His right hand grasped for the tumbler of calvados, and he chugged it down in three gulps, slamming it back down on its coaster, his right hand coming to grip the side of the piano as the left hand snaked into his trousers. The memory of that sweet summer air had him hard in an instant. The sound of her voice sending blood down directly to his cock. After a whole day of reliving those precious few memories, in the darkness of his sanctuary he found his need to be too much. He needed her, he always needed her, and if he couldn’t have her then he would have her ghost.

He grunted, the hand over his cock moving faster and faster.

“ _Petyr...Petyr is that you?”_

_“Heyyy.”_

Petyr slammed his hand down on the surface of the piano, grunting “Come on. Go back. The summer, the red hair. So close.”

“ _What do—what do you want, Petyr? Why are you calling me?”_

_“S’my birthdaaaay, don’t you remember?”_

_“Happy Birthday Petyr.”_

_“We promised we’d never miss a one, eh? Didn’t we? Twenty years...we’d never miss...” A sob. “I love you so much, Cat.”_

_“Petyr please.”_

_“No, I know! I know that you feel the same about me. I know!_

_A flicker._

_“You can’t tell me it all meant nothing. Not...” Another sob. “I’m dying without you, please. I was meant to make you happy. Everything you want, everything I have...iss’yours. You are the only one. The only one. I love you. I love you.”_

_A pause._

_“I’m sorry Petyr. Please don’t call again.”_

_“‘Are you really going to marry him?”_

_“Yes.”_

Petyr’s hand slumped out of his trousers. He lost it. He couldn’t even wank the memory of her out of his system. His head hung low over the piano, his breath coming out loud and hot through his nostrils. His chest felt searing hot under his shirt.

Now it was time for the good stuff. He poured himself a glass of whiskey. No ice, and took a leisurely sip as he walked over to the window, overlooking the stunning view of the city. The lights glinted like cold and distant stars, and him, the lone satellite, orbiting just out of reach, watching and longing from afar.

Petyr heard the front door open. Obie was back early. Maybe for once he’d behaved himself, and came back to get a decent nights sleep at a reasonable hour.

No such luck. No sooner after hearing the soft shuffle of Obie’s dress shoes entering the apartment was he followed by a clicking trio of heels and womanly whispers and giggles.

Petyr sighed, slinging back his whiskey. Time for him to play disapproving dad and ask Obie to turn his no doubt lovely companions out for the night. He was not in the mood to listen to Obie’s sex noises till the better part of three am. Though this penthouse was pretty soundproof, not even the architect could’ve anticipated the decibels that Obie could work his sexual escapades up to.

As he walked down the hallway from his study to the front living room of the penthouse, he could see Obie had lead his guests over to the windows, showing them the view. The young ladies cooing in awe.

“Is this even for real?” asked one of the girls, a brunette with long straight hair and a perfect overbite. Just Obie’s type.  
Obie had his arms wrapped around two of them, Petyr saw Obie’s hands dip from the small of their back to rest on the curve of each woman’s buttock.

The women laughed. Petyr rolled his eyes. They always fell for his International Dornish Playboy act. Though he could’ve sworn he’d heard three of them enter the apartment.

“So you and your partner actually live here,” asked the other girl. She had honey brown hair and beach ready skin — again, perfectly Obie’s type. Though Petyr pauses at the mention of partner.

“Ahem,” he coughed loudly, startling the three of them.

“Babe!” Obie cried, relinquishing his hold on the women and striding over to Petyr to grasp his head and kiss him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Petyr muttered through clenched teeth the moment their lips parted.

“Don’t be mad at me,” Obie nuzzled his cheek with his nose. “I can’t stand it, just makes me want to eat you.” Obie ran his tongue over the tensing muscle in Petyr’s jaw. Petyr lurched away from Obie and his slippery tongue. He looked over Obie’s shoulder taking in the tall, long-limbed girls, in the short, tight, club dresses. They smiled widely at the two of them, their eyes gleaming at Petyr as though he were naked and made of chocolate.

“Who are these lovely ladies?” Petyr smiled, warmly, but tightly, nodding his head in greeting to their guests.

“Ohh babe!” Obie squealed with delight, the excitable metrosexual. “Look at these delectable creatures I found on my way home. This is Amber,” he gestured to the brunette. “And her best friend Monica,” the honey brown girl curtsied. “Girls, this is Petyr.”

“Hi, Petyr,” they waved.

“Where’s Jeyne?”

“I think she went looking for the little girl’s room,” Amber said coyly.

_Jeyne? So there was a third one._

Petyr put on his amiable host face, and smiled.

“Ladies, we have a full bar in the den, the door just to your left. Why don’t you make yourselves comfortable and fix yourself a drink while I confer with my partner.”

“Ooh!” One of them exclaimed, and they quickly trotted out to find this magical berth of booze.

“So,” Oberyn grinned slyly, smoothing his hands down Petyr’s chest. “Can we keep them?”

Petyr resisted the urge to slap Obie’s hands off of him.

“I thought I said not to bring the club home with you.”

“And I didn’t. I met these girls just outside the club. Doesn’t count. Aren’t they precious?”

“Adorable. Send them home.”

“Oh don’t be like that.”

“I have to work in the morning.”

Obie pouted, like a child being denied his dessert.

“Aww come on. It’s my baby’s birthday, and I want to make him smile,” Obie teasingly squeezed Petyr’s crotch, making him jump. “I know just what will put a smile on my blue baby’s face,” Obie continued.

“A couple of Ambien and a good nights sleep?”

Obie nuzzled his nose into the crook of Petyr’s neck. “Noooo,” his voice was cloyingly saccharine and sensual. “A fuck. A good hard fuck. I know this. Every year it’s the same thing. You need to fuck that Tully bitch out of your system. I know you’ve already tried to wank her out, but it didn’t work. It never works.”

Petyr took a step back. _How did he-_ “You don’t necessarily know...”

“Oh I know, I know. I can smell it on you,” Obie came close enough to kiss and swiped his tongue over Petyr’s upper lip. “What is that? Calvados?...And the expensive whiskey?” He murmured huskily, and reached between them and caught Petyr’s left hand in a tight grip. “And this?” He pressed his nose into Petyr’s palm and inhaled deeply. “Your secret manly musk with just a hint of desperation. All reeks of a disappointing wank session.”

Petyr yanked his hand out of Obie’s grip, subconsciously wiping it on the leg of his trousers. Obie let him step a few paces back, let him create space between them, his infernal Obie-smirk twisting the devilish patch of hair he called a moustache. God dammit, why did he have to be right? Why must he know him so well?

Petyr places his hands on his hips, closed his eyes and exhaled. He admitted defeat. As he always did. He was fucking forty, and he admitted defeat. To hell with it all.

He didn’t even have to fucking say anything, Obie knew. He clapped his ringed hands together and stalked towards him. “That’s my babe, my darling, my sweet darling baby boy!”

Obie clasped his head and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh and I promise you, it’s going to be good, oh sweet baby, tonight is going to purify the she-demon straight out of you, you won’t even remember her name by the time I’m done.”

Petyr sighed, letting Obie lead him away by the tie. “So what is it tonight? Metrosexual gay couple looking to experiment?l

“I told you, it’s my baby’s birthday. I’m helping him cross one off the bucket list.”

“Pussy?”

“I believe I told them we were Pan. And deeply in love and down for anything.”

“Oh so the truth then.”

Obie leered through heavily hooded eyelids. The pleased rumble in his chest was practically predatory. “Oh fuck it, I’ll have you myself.”

“Hey, you promised me,” Petyr teased. Obie tugged him further down the dark corridor, a wayward hand slipping far too close to Petyr’s thigh.

“Alright, alright, I’ll give you up for the evening, but I want you to know that I’ll be thinking of you.”

“Don’t tell Ellie.”

They stopped at the door of the den, paused by the sounds of lips smacking and ice tinkling; the heavenly giggles of two very naughty little playmates.

Petyr stopped and sighed, trying to picture both girls in his mind, trying to get himself excited. From what he could remember, they were very tall and very attractive, but more so Obie’s type than his. The door stood in front of him like an imposing beast.

“So which one’s mine?” he asked tentatively. He almost sounded shy, like a green teenager about to see his first pair of breasts.

“Oh those two are all for me,” Obie grinned. “No, sweet boy, I sent your present to wait for you in your study. Ready to be unwrapped. What? You think I would just bring off any old kitten off the street. No I found the perfect one, just what my boy needs to get this whole freaking day out of his system.”

Obie’s hand slithered up and cupped Petyr’s cheek, his thumb just grazing the sharp peak of the cheekbone. It quickly slid from his face to the back of his neck, as he learnt to bestow one last kiss.

“Have fun, Petyr.”

Petyr took his kiss with a quiet nod. “You too.”

“Don’t I always.” Obie grinned and opened the door to the den, letting himself in. “Ladies! Ladies! Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, there is plenty of me to go around.”

The door closed behind him, leaving Petyr alone in the hallway. Just another few steps and he would be at the hallowed entryway to his private sanctum. One currently being invaded by an unknown force. And what is behind door number 2?

He envisioned long, red hair, and a pale round face, with lips so pink one could just suck them right off. He imagined eyes as wide as saucers, so blue as to hold the hold the whole world in them. The laugh like music, the sighs like waterfalls. Everything wrote in every bad love poem ever written. He wanted to to smell summer in her hair, and rain and sugar between her legs. Each step was slow and measured, savouring this brief moment before Pandora’s box opened and the truth was revealed. Hair not the right shade, eyes not quite as wide or as blue, smelling of Blue Sky vodka and cherry lip chap.

The door to his study slowly swung open, revealing her inch by agonizing slow inch.

He was right of course. The hair was not red, but strawberry blonde, cut into an enticingly cute, shaggy pixie that hung in rough spiky layers to just below her ears. Her skin, not pale as cream, but a delightful warm tanned, like a perfect little marshmallow. She was facing away from him so he could not make out her face, but judging by her body, she was just barely legal. Nineteen at the most. She still had that adolescent roundness in the curves of her hips, and endless excitable youth flowing from every extremity.

Obie was right. She was perfect.

Petyr closed the door quietly, so as not to disturb her, watching her as she fingered the books in his collection, reading their titles, her hand resting on one of the more salacious items on his shelves. The Kama Sutra. A Christmas gift from Obie - a collectors item for all aging bachelors such as Petyr.

What a curious little thing?

“Ahem.”

The girl lets out a soft gasp, her finger quickly escaping from the dangerous spine of such a tempting volume. He finally sees her face. A cute little nose, perfectly pink lips, and huge, wide, innocent blue eyes. Petyr smiles.

“You must be Jeyne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, chapter 2.
> 
> Don’t worry folks, Obie is being a bit of a fic hog at the moment, but sooner rather than later, Sansa is gonna become more of a fixture, I swear. For now, enjoy some of Pervy Pete and his bottomless feels. 
> 
> Thanks 0pheliaraine for keeping me writing. More to come!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask for more Pervy Pete and ye shall receive.

Petyr set out two glasses and poured his guest two fingers of calvados. All the while eyeing her from the corner of his periphery as she plunked an ivory key on his grand piano.

The tight black mini skirt she wore barely covered her pert little bottom, and made her lovely legs look much longer than they were. He made his way around the desk and sat on its edge holding out the small glass of apple brandy for her. She took the glass tentatively, her brow furrowed in confusion, before knocking the whole thing back like a shot. She coughed, her hand coming to cover her mouth. Petyr laughed in spite of himself, reaching behind him for the bottle and refilling her glass.

“Sip it,” he said; a careful instruction. “Slowly. Savour it.”

Her hand dropped from her face and the corners of her mouth curled in a playful grin. She took the glass, and brought it to her nose. “Smells like rotten apples.”

He laughs. She was cute.

“It’s very expensive.”

She took a small sip, and her face twisted. Poor thing, she probably still got wasted on vodka and wine coolers.

“Do you like my books?” he asked. She nodded, attempting another sip. “What caught your attention, hmm? Anything you like?” She nodded again. “Show me.”

Those blue eyes twinkled a bit as she smiled, shyly - the way young girls do. He sat against the desk with his legs stretched out before him, and she cautiously stepped into the negative space between them. A little mouse, and he a bird of prey. He couldn’t help but watch her intently. She slowly bent around him to place her glass on the desk beside him, her hand just grazing his as she did so. A playful little mouse. Birds love to play with their victims.

When she righted herself she was closer to the junction of his legs, but still wary of touching him aside from that little graze.

“What book, sweetling?”

In her eyes he could see her mulling her options. Give him what he wants...or give him what he asks for. The precise moment she made her decision - all hesitancy in her youthful face disappeared. She pulled away from him with a giggle and made her way on skittish little legs towards the wall of books on the other side of his study.

“You don’t have much fiction,” Jeyne giggled, trailing her fingers over one end of the bookcase.

“I don’t care much for fairytales,” Petyr watched her curiously. His little mouse was clever. Not going straight for the book she wanted. Willingly drawing out the little game he’d created.

“Not all fictions are fairytales,” the little mouse countered, fingering another title.

“But all fictions are lies,” he sipped; one eye always open, watching her trail ever closer to where he knew her curiosity lay.

“Most things are, you know, doesn’t immediately discount them. You can still learn something from a lie.”

Petyr pauses in his drinking at that. How very apt. “And what lies have you learnt tonight?”

She laughed and tilted her head, her blonde hair tickling the back of her neck. “Well, I learnt that expensive means hard to swallow.”

He barked a small laugh at that. She bent over to look at a book on the lower shelf.

“That choosing a book means choosing the right book,” she lifted those bright blue eyes to his and smiled. _Clever mouse._

She righted herself and went to another book, keeping her gaze purposefully diverted. “And you’re not gay.”

His eyes widened. Not with shock, just merely surprise. He set down his calvados, now fully intrigued.

“You aren’t, are you?”

“What makes you say that?”

Jeyne giggled again. “You just aren’t,” she averted his dark gaze. “I mean, look at you.”

It was Petyr’s turn to chuckle. A weak excuse, little mouse. Why hold back now?

“I didn’t really buy it to begin with, you know, when that guy...Oberyn or whatever, when he picked us up. He said you guys were life partners, and that you were looking to mix it up. No girl believes that. Especially from a guy walking out of a sex club.”

Petyr dropped his hands to his knees and sighed, bowing his head. He couldn’t argue with her logic.

“You are very perceptive,” he said in way of agreement.

“Why lie?” she asked.

“Obie...he thinks he’s cute,” Petyr shrugged, pinching the bridge of his nose. He pushed himself off the desk and slowly crossed the room towards her. “It’s not a complete lie of sorts. Obie and I. We do love each other. And Obie certainly loves to mix things up with all of God’s creatures...”

“But?” She cups her hands in front of her like a patient school girl. It makes him smile.

“But...I am not gay.” He concedes. The girl’s mouth curls in a victorious little smile.

He is close enough to touch her. Close enough to back her up against the bookcase if he so wished to, but he stays just that one step away. On the borderline of invading her person.

“Then why?” Her voice is soft, but not so timid as before.

“Well, it’s my birthday.”

“Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” he lowers his register to match hers. “And on my birthday I tend to need a little...” he takes that one step closer and raises his hand hand to gently brush away a stray blonde strand that had caught on her lashes. “...distraction.”

Her tongue darts out to wet her perfectly pink lips, her hands drifting behind her to find purchase on the shelf. To steady herself or to keep herself from falling in?

“Obie just likes to play games is all. Like I do.”

“Yo-you like games?”

“Love them.”

She swallows and gives a little nervous chuckle. It’s enough of a signal for him to back off a little. No need to frighten the little mouse off.

“And we were in the middle of one, weren’t we? Before we got side tracked. One that you’ve yet to finish.”

He sees a small amount of relief wash through her features as he steps away and goes to make himself comfortable on the piano bench. “I still want to know, sweet little Jeyne. Which book has caught your eye. Even if it is the wrong book. As you said, even lies can teach little truths.”

His clever little Jeyne smiled, accepting the small little prize that even she had taught him something in this little game of theirs. She didn’t hesitate this time, walking over to the other end of the bookcase and plucking the desired book off its shelf. She casually wandered over to where he sat and handed it to him.

The Kama Sutra. As he suspected.

“This is...rather advanced,” he tried to act surprised by her choice, but they both knew he’d known all along what book she would choose.

“You must’ve read it.” She stood beside the piano, running her painted fingernail in the grooves ands notches of its glossy back edges.

“Once or twice.”

“You must know some of the moves.”

Petyr raised a singular eyebrow, looking from her to the book in his hands.

“I’ve never...” she began to say, but stopped herself. Her bright blue eyes darted to her hands, examining the sheen off of one black key.

“You’ve never...done it before?”

“Oh no! I’ve had sex before. Like a couple of times, just never with someone so...”

“Old?”

She smiled and blushed, her eyes darting up to his then back down again. “I was going to say experienced.”

Petyr threw his head back and laughed. Oh she was precious. Thank you Obie for this little gem, she was priceless. The room was warm now, and the calvados was doing its job - finally seeping it’s way into his body. He relaxed against the piano and smiled, but not unkindly.

“And what would you like to know of my experience?”

“Oh, you know...” She laughed nervously, running a hand through the jagged ends of her hair. “Everything.”

“Everything is quite a lot for one night.” He caught her hand in his and tugged her around till she stood in between his legs, not touching, but close. “How about we start with something simple...ok?” His mossy eyes glinted up to hers. “Then work ourselves up.”

The book was left abandoned on the piano as his hands came to gently wrap behind behind her back, lying palm flat against her lower lumbar. The little mouse couldn’t escape now. He had her snagged in his claws.

She lifted her arms to rest on his shoulders as he tugged her further into his embrace. Their eyes remained locked on each other as his head dipped to press a warm wet kiss on the round, childish swell of her abdomen. Then a kiss to the jutting bone of her hips, above the fabric of her skirt, and one to the sensitive skin beside her belly button. She jerked involuntarily, but giggled at the funny sensation.

Petyr pulled his head back, tilting his head up towards her. She was beginning to relax, her body slowly giving over to his hands and his proximity. Yes, yes, trust, that’s what was needed.

Those steady and mischievous hands of his slithered from her back up to her nape, pulling her evermore closer to him so he could capture her lips in a kiss. When she fell against him he was there to catch her. Trapping her with a hand on the back of her skull and the the other gripping her hip. Their lips never losing contact, as he hoisted her small body into his lap, and wrapped her lovely tanned legs around his waist.

Petyr left her mouth to trail warm, wet, open-mouthed kisses down her neck to the tops of her breasts. Their current position caused her shimmery black crop top to bunch, her breasts just peeking out the top. He swiped his tongue over the them then trailed back up to her in a slow, sensual meeting of mouths. He gripped her hair a little in his fist, and sighed a little into the column of her throat as her hips rotated a little into him.

Without warning he launched to his feet, scooping her up with him, causing her to squeal.

“Where are you taking me?” She murmured into his neck.

“Not far.”

And truly, it was only a couple of steps. On the floor, a few metres from the piano was a lovely sheepskin rug; a perfect accessory for what he had in mind. He carried sweet little Jeyne around the piano and gently lowered himself to his knees and deposited her on the rug. She squealed again, her arms around his neck dragging him down on top of her. He didn’t mind.

Jeyne lay on the sheepskin, her arms flailed about her head unsure of what to do. He couldn’t help but dip down and kiss her again. A brief kiss, an assuring kiss. _Don’t worry little mouse, I will take care of you._

“Lie still,” a gentle order. Her legs unravelled from around him as he pushed himself up to kneeling.

He set about making her comfortable, first removing her back wedge heels, slowly, strap by strap, then running his open palms up the soft length of her legs, pleased when she would jerk a little from a sensitive spot, or sigh when he rubbed a taut muscle. When he reached her skirt he toyed with the idea of ripping it away entirely, just to prove who was in charge, but when he met her blue-eyed gaze, awash in anticipation, he smiled. He shifted himself down, moving his body to lie parallel to her, his torso draping over her thighs as he pressed a sultry kiss to her navel. The muscles underneath her skin twitched underneath his lips and it made him smile against her skin. Delicious.

“Can you tell me your name?” Jeyne’s voice suddenly broke through his lustful haze. “What should I call you?”

Petyr lifted his head from her skin to look at her. “What would you like to call me?”

Jeyne shifted a little and averted her eyes. “I don’t know...” her voice was so small, like a child’s. “Your name. You know mine. Seems only fair.”

Petyr’s mouth curled into a devilish smile. _Oh Jeyne, Jeyne, Jeyne._

“Petyr, just...call me Petyr.”

“Petyr.” She tests the name out on her tongue, then gives him a little nod. Permission to continue now that they were on even ground again.

Petyr dipped his head and laved his tongue on her soft belly, nipping the sharp jut of her hip bone before reaching the top of her skirt. To her surprise he pulled away then; elegantly coming to standing in one smooth motion.

“Pet-“ she sat up.

He shushed her before she could say anything.

“Take it off,” he said. His tone brooked no argument.

“A-all of it?”

“Just the skirt and the top. Leave your underwear.”

Jeyne hesitatingly brought her hand to the hem of her shirt. Her face frowned with confusion. But after a moment she complied, removing the top in one easy movement and unzipping the skirt and tugging it down her supple legs.

Petyr went to the bottle of calvados left on his desk and refilled his glass, chugging down the liquid in a quick two gulps. A little liquid mood to keep him relaxed.

A quick perusal of his jazz records for the perfect atmosphere to soundtrack this little encounter - something that would put him at ease. The turn table switched on. and the perfect record selected, soon, soft, fluttery jazz was coming out the speakers.

Petyr turned back to Jeyne, still sitting on the sheepskin rug, now in nothing but a matching set of black lingerie.

“What is this?” she asked.

“It’s jazz.”

“I know,” she blushed, running her hand through her messy hair. “I mean, I know it’s jazz. My dad likes listening to this stuff.”

Oh, sweetling.

She blushed again, covering her face with her hand. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

He didn’t laugh, but the darkness in his eyes was not unkind, nor was there any line in his face that seemed displeased. He would forgive the little mouse for her slip up.

“Lie back, Jeyne.”

She met his gaze, the mood shifting instantly once more, back to their game. After a moment’s hesitation she shifted herself back down to her elbows and stretched her sweet little body on the rug, before lying herself back completely.

Petyr stalked over to where she lay, standing just at her head and looking down at her.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked.

Jeyne nodded.

“Do you need a pillow, or something to drink?”

Her pink mouth dropped open as if to say something, then closed again. She shook her head no.

“I want you to feel safe Jeyne, I hope you know that. I want this to be just as much fun for you as it is for me.”

“Please...” she said, voice dewy and uncontrolled. “Just...teach me. Teach me everything.”

One side of Petyr’s mouth curled upwards in a wicked grin. Who was he to deny such a sweet request?

Petyr sat in a nearby reading chair and deftly removed his shoes and socks, tucking them discreetly out of the way. The sheepskin felt impossibly soft against the bare soles of his feet as he came to look over his little mouse again. She lay there like the subject for an erotic painting, her short hair fanned against the rug like Christ’s halo. A holy bastardization of Mary Magdalene. Innocence and corruption.

Petyr lowered himself to one knee and then the other, positioned just at her feet, as if in supplication. Her toes were painted to match her fingernails, and some twisted primal part of him toyed with the thought of sucking on those cute little piggies - but he eventually thought better of it. There was something more pressing that required his attention.

“What have you read about, sweetling?” he asked, trailing his fingers up the arches of her feet and wrapping his hands around her shapely ankles. “What have you yet to experience?”

The girl licked her lips and swallowed.

“How am I to teach you if I don’t know what you’ve already learned. I need a baseline, Jeyne.”

“I...I-I’ve done it...h-had it in there, in my...” she blushed furiously.

“Anywhere else?”

She gulped thickly.

“I-in my mouth.”

“And his?”

Her eyes widened. “Wha-“

“Have any of your previous partners pleasured you with their mouth?”

His voice was dangerously calm and husky, Petyr’s sex voice, as Obie had told him once. A few well placed words at this register could get Obie coming in his pants...that had been a fun Christmas.

Jeyne’s cheeks tinged a deeper red, and her tongue shot out to wet her lips. He was gonna snag that tongue before the night was through and draw it into his own with his teeth.

“No,” she murmured. She looked down at herself, at her matching bra and panties, at his hand slowly sliding up and down from her calf to her ankle.

“Would you like that?” He catches her gaze again with a slight tightening of his grip on the underside of her knee.

“Would I like to...”

“Would you like me to put my mouth to your delectable cunt, and eat you out?”

Blunt, but effective. The pupils widened and darkened and the skin of her neck and breasts flushed. Arousal.

“Uhh..”

“Yes or no, Jeyne. That’s all you have to say.”

She looked from him to his hand at her knee then back at him.

“Yes.”

A wicked smile. The hand still wrapped around her right ankle guided her knee up to bend, and set the foot down flat on the rug, just a little out of alignment with her hip. Then he drew the other leg up in the same manner, creating a space between her knees just wide enough to fit him. His hands slid from under her knees down her thighs to hook in the black lacy frills of her underwear. He dropped his head to place an open-mouthed kiss on to one of her exposed shins.

“Lift your ass,” he murmured against her skin.

She complied. He could feel the muscles in her legs work to gently raise her bum off the rug, just high enough for him to tug the fabric of her underwear over the peach-like globes. His fingers dragged lazily over her hip bones, and the soft untouched flesh of her ass. Making note of every hitch and sigh in her breathing. Her fingers gripped tightly into the rug, twitching with nerves and excitement and most importantly, anticipation.

The underwear slipped up her legs and off with little complication; every lazy slide of his hands felt measured and purposeful. He carelessly tossed the frilly black knickers behind him and gently brought his hands back to her knees, parting them.

Her breath caught. A hand tightened in the sheepskin.

“Relax,” he breathed. She took in a breath and exhaled, the tension in her body finally melting away under his hands.

It was his first good look at her. Bare. Expertly done, in preparation or personal preference? He would have to ask her later. Either way he was pleased with what he saw.

A shift on his knees brought him in between those quivering legs. Those hands continuing to slide up and down her thighs before gripping the underside of each knee and pressing each limber limb down, opening her up like the wings of a newborn butterfly.

He brought his face tantalizingly close, eyes boring into the flesh of her pubic bone. There was a singular beauty freckle just at the juncture between pelvis and cunt. He dropped a kiss there first, feeling her whole body writhe underneath him. Delightful.

He lifted his head just enough to look at her. “Last chance...” he muttered.

“For what?” she lifted her own head to meet his penetrating gaze.

“To run away,” he grinned, his beard grazing the sensitive skin. She jerked slightly. “To stop this, if you should so choose.”

“I’m not running,” she managed to say with a measure of conviction, despite her position.

“Good.”

With that, he ducked his head to the side and kissed her inner thigh; the linguinal space between leg and apex; the firm muscular chord running from hip to groin. Then he switched to the opposite leg, enjoying the way she sighed and shifted herself a little to accomodate him.

God, I shouldn’t be doing this, he thought. He should be preparing himself for tomorrow’s meeting. Showering, getting ready for sleep. Rereading his proofs and budget outlines in bed to double check for any typos. Yet here he was, kneeling in between a nineteen year old girl’s legs, about to sup on her cunny. Lord, if this was to be his mid-life crisis...

_A flash of red hair. A laugh. Summer air. “Petyr!”_

He remembered what he was doing this for. Why he needed to do this. He would forever be haunted by the ghost of twenty years ago, but he could forget about her for now in the lips and labia and dripping cunt of this beautiful, young, delectable thing. Forgotten for a night, a month, a year, until it was his birthday once more, and the ghost of her came to haunt him again.

As Obie had said then, at Petyr’s lowest point - cut open and bleeding and having not much to live for. _“You need to find a way to beat them at their own game, Petyr. You need to find a way to go on for yourself. Don’t fight them, fuck them.”_

That had been the first time Oberyn had kissed him, and from then on, Petyr had found a way to keep going on.

With that thought he dipped his head and ran his tongue along the entire length of Jeyne’s slit.

Her back ached and bowed, one leg threatening to kick, but was held fast by his powerful arms pinning her legs to the floor. Her throat opened and out of it came the most delicious broken cry.

“Oh god,” she groaned, adjusting herself to find better purchase for her hands on the rug in preparation for the next swipe of his tongue. With a hum he caught her clit in between his lips and gave it a luxurious suck. She writhed and cried out again. This time a hand found home in his hair - her grip tight against his skull causing him to groan in to her silky flesh. Her lithe little hips rolled ever so slightly into his mouth as he took to nibbling down the lips and laying his tongue flat and sliding it upwards to swirl around at the top again. He repeated this motion, and she cried inarticulately - gripping his head in both her hands and shaking her head furiously.

He pulled back.

“Would you like me to stop sweetling?”

She took this brief reprieve to suck in three huge gulps of air.

“No. Never. Never. No.” She shook her head with every word. “Again. Please, please Petyr, more.”

He grinned, setting back to his work, this time with even greater vigour. Every move calculated to make this delightful creature moan and writhe and scream.

With each cry, he imagined the sound of his summer girl’s laughter became less and less. With every moan, he hoped she could drown out every remembered whispered sigh “ _Petyr, softly...kiss me softly.”_ With every tug on his hair, he imagined himself relieved of the memory of the pain in his chest, and the burn of the scar that still remained there. _“There’s only you. Only you. I love you. I love you...”_  
There would be only this moment, on this rug, with this sweet little mouse Jeyne. He wished that, he wanted that - he wanted that more than he wanted Jeyne’s cum on his face. He wanted it to be purged from his system and permanently replaced. Replaced by something sweeter and warmer, and tinged with cherry lip chap.

So focused on his task and Jeyne’s little mewling cries, he didn’t hear the door to the study open, and the soft shuffle of leather shoes on Valarian hardwood. It wasn’t until he felt heat on his back and a hand groping the growing hardness of his crotch did he realize he had been snagged in his own right.  
A hand deftly plucked his belt out of its buckle and wormed its way into Petyr’s trousers, pulling Petyr’s attention away from Jeyne with a few rough strokes. Petyr groaned, falling back on to his knees into Obie’s waiting arms.

Jeyne, feeling the loss of Petyr’s succulent mouth, lifted her head to see him caught in the throes of Obie’s expert hands. Petyr writhing into his grip, eyes closed and sighing. He was too lost to care. He just wanted to forget, whether it be in the hands of Obie or in the depths of a beautiful woman’s cunt.

“Sorry, my dear Jeyne,” Obie sighed, gently rocking his own hardness into Petyr’s backside. “I have a hard time sharing.”

Petyr groaned once more, his hand coming to rest over Obie’s wandering fingers. “She’s knows, Obie,” Petyr managed to say through clenched teeth, even as Obie began trailing kisses down Petyr’s neck.

“I know,” Obie grinned, digging his teeth into one of Petyr’s ear lobes. “I don’t think she minds, do you Jeyne?”

Jeyne sat up, closing her legs a little, despite her fascination with the two fully grown men openly fondling one another. A new side to the enigmatic Petyr that had been, up to this point, about to give her the best freaking orgasm of her life - yet here he was, exposed and vulnerable, moaning at the hands of another master entirely.

“I can help,” Jeyne scooted closer; eager.

That caused Oberyn to pause and lessen his hold over Petyr’s form.

“A team effort?” Obie’s eyebrow raised. “What do you think about that, my love?” He swiped his tongue over Petyr’s ear. Petyr laughed, his hips still grinding a little into Obie’s crotch.

“Well..” he grunted with the effort. “It is my birthday.”

Obie chuckled, bringing his hand around to cup Petyr’s chin. With this hold he guided him close and the two men kissed each other deeply. Even without the hand wrapped around his cock, Petyr kept thrusting his hips in the air idly. God, he needed something, anything. Friction. He was all worked up with no where to go.

Obie pulled away, his forehead pressed against Petyr’s. “I have an idea,” he whispered huskily between them.

“What?” Petyr opened his eyes a fraction. Wary. Obie’s ideas always had catches.

Obie looked over to Jeyne, her attention still rapt on Petyr and his neglected cock. He side-glanced to Petyr, his mouth curling wickedly. “The Dornish Saddle.” Petyr pulled away at that. “Come on, it’ll be perfect.”

“We can’t. Ellaria will kill us.”

“Oh I think she will understand my reasoning.”

“She made us swear that we would never do that without her.”

“It’s better to say sorry later than to ask permission now.”

“I don’t think that’s how that saying goes...”

“Come on, Petyr. You can be top pony. It will be fantastic. Don’t you think so Jeyne?”

Jeyne flushed. “Uhhh...”

“See, she’s into it.”

Petyr looked over to Jeyne, her sweet agile legs and pert little body all flushed and damp from his tongue just moments before. It would be something to make her night rather memorable.

“Ehh...fine, fine,” he acquiesced, worming his way out of Obie’s grip until Obie finally relinquished his hold on him.

Obie grinned widely and grasped Petyr’s head laying a wet kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be right back,” he launched to his feet like an excitable boy about to play his favourite game. Once standing, he pointed a finger at Petyr, suddenly looking very serious. “Prepare her,” he said pointedly. “I’m off to fetch the needed accoutrements. Have her ready for when I get back. Let her know what she’s in for.”

With that he was gone, leaving Petyr alone with Jeyne.

She was still sat on the rug, her hands knotted together in her bare lap.

“Wh-what was that about?”

“Hmm?”

“Wh-what’s a Dornish Saddle?”

Petyr exhaled a soft sort of laugh, scrubbing his hand over his face. God, Obie never made things easy. He met her eyes and smiled, slowly bending over to rest the weight of his torso on his hands and made a slow crawl on his knees till he was kneeling eye to eye with her.  
She did not flinch when his hands came to cup her jaw, his fingers splaying over her cheeks and the underside of her chin. He brought their lips together in a sultry slow kiss, allowing the remnants of her still on his tongue to pass between them.

When he pulled back he continued to cradle her head in his arms, enjoying the way she relaxed into it, her hands coming to rest on his sternum.

“It’s something Obie and I came up with in college...well, we came up with this variation, the act itself has been around centuries. It’s rather advanced.”

Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly - he’d missed it had he not been watching for it explicitly.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“Yes, oh yes,” she said without hesitation. He smiled.

“Good...good. Because I want this to be good for you. Even though it may sound a little intimidating at first, we’ve always found, if done right, it can be one of the most pleasurable acts. If you think you can handle it.”

“I can handle it, I can!” she said too quickly.

He raised a finger to her lips to shush her.

“Let me finish first and then decide,” he said. He removed his finger and replaced it with a gentle kiss. Both hands lighted on her hips, guiding her close until their pelvises brushed. “Oberyn will lay under you, acting as support, and he will be inside you here,” one hand slipped from her waist over the tender globe of one bum cheek to gently rub a finger around the soft puckered ring of her anus. The touch made her jump a little, a small squeak escaping her mouth. Petyr soothed her with a few smooth strokes from his opposite hand still on her flank, and a light kiss to just behind her ear. “While he will be moving in you to seek his own pleasure, yes, his main job will be to hold you open for me. I’ll be the one in control, guiding the pace. And we will be gentle, I will make sure he is gentle,” Petyr’s hand slipped further. “I’ll be on top of you, inside you, here,” the tip of one finger just dipped inside her cunt. Jeyne sighed, inadvertently rocking herself into his hand. Ohhh sweet heaven, Obie better return soon or he might just have to start without him. “I’ll be with you the entire time, all you have to do is focus on me, don’t even worry about what else is going on. Just me,” his hand slipped away from her and down her arms until their fingers entwined. “But you have to let me know now if you think it’s too much for you. I won’t be disappointed sweetling, I swear. If you so wish I will pick you up right now and carry you to my bedroom where we can continue our private exploration of each other for the rest of the night if that’s what you want. It’s up to you.”

She bit her lip thoughtfully.

“You’d be with me the entire time?”

“The entire time, sweetling.”

She ducked her gaze to their joined hands and stared up at him through her long lashes, the corners of her lips curling into a shy little moue.

“I...I want...to do it...with you. Yes.”

Petyr squeezed her hands, one side of his mouth forming into a half-grin.

“I’m glad.” He leant forward and caught her in another kiss, releasing her hands to wrap around her again - pleased despite himself when her arms looped around his neck.

“But...” she pulled away from the kiss. He sighed internally. Ahh, the dreaded but...

“But...why a saddle?”

Petyr laughed, he couldn’t help himself. This girl was a delight.

“Well, sweetling,” he dropped a kiss to her shoulder. “In Dorne, you don’t ride the saddle...the saddle rides you.”

Jeyne’s brow creased in delightful confusion, but before he could clarify his his statement, the door opened heralding Obie’s return.

“I come bearing gifts!” he announced proudly. In one hand he held a bright pink and orange coloured cocktail, and in the other a clear bottle of lube. “Did you...you know...inform her?”

Petyr sighed pulling away from Jeyne and pushing himself to his feet. “Yes.”

“And?” God, Obie was impatient this evening.

Petyr helped little Jeyne to standing, gesturing to her and the fact that she was still here and not running for the hills.

“Excellent,” Obie grinned. “Excellent, excellent!”

He held out the cocktail for Jeyne to take, ogling her half-naked form; her shaven pussy, and her lovely legs. “This is for you. Some liquid courage for the lady.” She took the cocktail gratefully. “Drink it all down, every last drop. You’re going to need it.”

“Obie,” Petyr said, a hint of warning in his voice. Even Obie knew that this evening would be over in a heartbeat if he slipped even one drug into the girl’s drink.

Obie lifted his hands up in innocence, backing off from Jeyne and setting about his preparations.

Jeyne took a tentative sip and gagged. “Ugh, it tastes terrible!”

Oberyn have a baffled sort of shrug when Petyr looked at him. “What? It’s expensive.”

Jeyne and Petyr shared a small secret smile between them when Obie turned his back.

“What is this caterwauling?” Obie took the jazz record off the turntable. “Seriously. Does this get you off?”

Petyr shrugged. Oberyn looked at Jeyne.

“I tell you, his tongue must be a masterpiece to make you tune out this dreary moaning.”

“It’s soulful,” Petyr argued.

“It’s morose,” Oberyn tucked the vinyl record back into its sleeve, fingering the stack of records till he found one that better suited his tastes. “Here we are!”

The heavy bass came through the speakers, reverberating through Petyr’s chest.

Obie turned away from the turntable, rubbing his hands together.

“Now we can get this party started!”

As if on cue, the two other playmates for the evening burst through the door, carrying bottles of gin and soda water, as well as their unhooked bras.

“We heard there was some freaky shit going down on here,” slurred the one called Amber with a slightly inebriated laugh.

Monica crossed her arms, seeing Jeyne with the bright pink cocktail, and her exposed bottom half. She drew her own conclusions. “Aww, the green ones always get to have the most fun.”

Oberyn was quick to relieve them of their burdens, both the drinks and the under garments.

“Ladies! My beauties! Have no fear, the night is far from over. Think of it as a delightfully debaucherous play. Everything so far has merely been the prologue. This, my dears, is the first act. Starring the beautiful blonde ingenue, and her dark leading man.”

Amber bit the corner of her fake nail, raking her eyes over Petyr.

“But we all have our roles to play,” he stroked Monica’s chin, nipping under her ear. “Call me Mr. Director. Will you get him ready for me, my ladies?”

Both girls leered through their heavy lashes and dark smoky eyes. They nodded, not needing a cue to hook their fingers into each other’s panties and slip them down their legs, handing the scraps of fabric to Oberyn with a playful giggle.

Oberyn poured a shot of gin and handed it to Monica. “Give this to him.”

With that both girls were set on Petyr, hunger alight in their eyes as they approached him. Amber settling herself on her knees at his feet, while Monica tipped his head back with the gentle guidance of her clawed hand, and poured the strong gin into his mouth.

Through bitter swallows and rough kisses, Petyr opened his eye to Jeyne, still standing on the rug with her drink, and her quivering legs - she was entranced as the two women wove themselves all around him. Amber divested him of his belt and trousers as Monica began sucking a hickey on to the base of his throat.

What must he look like to the sweet, wide-eyed Jeyne in this moment? A thoroughly debauched creature of lust and pleasure. Or a thoroughly debased man - the lowest of all creatures.

He kept his eyes on Jeyne’s even as one of the girls began mouthing his cock through the fabric of his underwear, and other began slipping the buttons of his shirt through their holes.

Oberyn watched as well, thoroughly pleased at the hedonistic landscape he had created. Once Jeyne had finally finished her last gulp of the foul pink liquid, he was quick to relieve her of her glass. He pulled her off to the side, away from Petyr, leering at her the entire time.

“May I?” His fingers danced along the straps of her bra.

Her eyes darted back to Petyr - for permission? Assurance? He wasn’t sure. He gave her a nod anyway, and it seemed to be what she needed.

“Ok,” she said mousily. Oberyn made her a little nervous, Petyr could tell.

Obie smiled warmly, running his hands down her sides, over the sweet roundness of her hips then back up, caressing her ribs all the way under her arms to her back. Those wily hands pressed her closer to him, into his almost predatory stance, as he leant down to press a dry little kiss to the peak of her shoulder.

Petyr felt a twinge of protectiveness for his little mouse. He should be with her, easing her into Obie’s embrace, rather than letting her fend for herself against his dark intentions.

His kisses trailed from her shoulder, up her neck, to her ear, distracting her as his sly fingers did away with the clasp of her bra. The cups fell away, revealing her perfectly little palm-sized breasts. The rosy buds of her nipples were already puckered despite the warm air of the room.

Oberyn cupped one with his hand, his thumb and forefinger squeezing the pink little nub. Jeyne sighed, her body relaxing a little against him. With the assurance that Oberyn was indeed being gentle with the girl Petyr relaxed, allowing himself to get a little carried away by the sensation of two girls on his cock. His briefs done away with during his temporary distraction. His shirt was unbuttoned, wet in places from the gin and Monica’s mouth, and all that was left underneath was his white undershirt. Both girls now knelt before him, their mouths on him, nibbling and licking and running their long nails up the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. Petyr’s eyes closed in momentary bliss. He mustn’t get too caught up, he must be primed, for Jeyne...for Jeyne...for Jeyne.

When he opened his eyes again he saw Oberyn now with his mouth fully latched onto Jeyne’s small teat, sucking and nipping, and eliciting the sweetest gasps and sighs from her pink lipped mouth. God, they better get this started soon, or Petyr was not going to make it.

Oberyn reached behind Jeyne to the bottle of lube he had placed on the desk - having positioned Jeyne specifically within reach. He rubbed the liquid in between his palms to warm it up before lowering his hands to the swell of her ass, still distracting her with his mouth on her tender breast. She only jumped a little when he swiped a finger past her hole, rimming the sensitive skin before slipping a finger inside. She squealed a little, bit devolved into a flurry of giggles. The blush in her face was heavenly, even Obie couldn’t suppress a groan.

“Has no one ever played with you here?” Obie teased.

Petyr groaned a little, pulling Amber and Monica off of him. “Thank you, ladies, thank you.” He helped them to their feet.

He sucked in a deep breath. How was he going to survive this night. He caught Monica and pulled her to him to kiss her, some sort of distraction. His finger found its way inside her cunt, while his other hand grasped blindly for something of Amber’s to hold. It settled near her shoulder, and thankfully she guided that hand up to her face, taking his thumb into her soft, wet mouth. Oh, good lord.

“Mmm, you kiss good,” sighed Monica.

“How about her?” he nodded his head in Amber’s direction.

“She’s good too.”

“Show me.”

His thumb slipped from Amber’s mouth and was soon replaced by Monica, the two girls excitedly pressing up against each other - hands, breasts, even a well placed thigh between Monica’s legs.

Petyr stepped back, appraising them as he would any of his employees at the club. Watching for technique. It was clinical, methodical. A trick he employed to keep himself from getting aroused during business.

His own senses back under his control he could finally take in Oberyn and Jeyne, the girl now fully lost to Obie’s attentions. He pulled back, extracting his finger from her ass.

“I think you’re ready now. Don’t you think so, Petyr?”

Jeyne looked at him so expectantly it almost made his chest hurt. Her cheeks were flushed red, and her ass glittered from where the lube has been applied, catching the dim light in a pearlescent sheen. She was as ready as she’d ever be, he supposed.

Oberyn was naked in record time, stroking his hand along his cock, fully coated with lube, and washing it all down with a quick shot of gin.

Petyr stood and watched as Obie guided her back to the rug, his eyes dark and dangerous. He better not get any ideas, Petyr thought. I’m top pony this time.

Oberyn lowered himself to his knees, still fisting himself with long easy strokes - coming eye to eye with Jeyne’s beautiful, bare pussy.

“How do you want me?” The question was directed to Petyr.

“You’re the director,” Petyr responded, teasingly

“Of course,” Obie grinned, guiding Jeyne towards him with his free hand. He kissed her hip, her navel, her breast, smiling at the way she melted a little underneath his cunning lips. “Are you ready?” he asked her.

She nodded.

With a devilish grin, and his right hand never leaving his erect cock, he slowly draped himself on to his back, making himself comfortable amongst the buttery soft sheepskin. When he was comfortable, he took Jeyne’s hand again and guided her in between his legs. They bent upwards to accommodate her, forcing her to widen her stance, and balance herself on his knees.

“Sit yourself on my cock,” he coaxed her ass backwards, spreading the cheeks as she bent to sit, the hand on his cock holding it in position. As it breached the puckered skin, Jeyne froze, her hands clenching tightly over Obie’s knees. “Gently does it. Easy. It’s ok, take your time,” Obie soothed, rubbing a hand down her backside.

Amber and Monica briefly halted their playful pawing of each other to watch little Jeyne struggle to seat herself on Obie’s waiting erection. Petyr stared most intently.

“Jeyne,” he said huskily, sensing a need for encouragement. “Look at me, sweetling.”

She did.

“Let me in,” Petyr said lowly, not moving. His own erection was obscured by the folds of his shirt. He must really look a sight. Hair messed up, naked from the waist down. Swollen lips, bleary eyes, hard cock. Like something out of every mother’s nightmares. The corruptor of innocence.

Jeyne seemed to innately understand his meaning, swallowing down whatever hesitancy she had lift. A simple shift of her legs, and a reposition of her hands on Obie’s thighs had her sinking easily onto the cock now firmly lodged high in her ass. Once seated she let out a choked out little sound, and a little sigh. Sensing when she was comfortable Obie positioned her to lie back on his chest, maneuvering her legs around his thighs so her cunny was spread wide open, just for Petyr.

Amber and Monica resumed their interest in each other on the reading chair opposite, supposedly they could watch while they kept each other entertained. Petyr could hardly think of them anymore. Entranced he was, by the gift Obie had generously opened wide for him.

Jeyne looked so deliciously vulnerable like that. And her eyes never ceased to take him in, watching him with rapt attention. It was his turn.

Petyr knelt one knee at a time at the altar of Jeyne’s womanhood, smoothing his hands down her shaking thighs until they ceased to shake.

“You are incredibly brave Jeyne. Thank you,” he leant close, moving his hand to either side of Obie and Jeyne, supporting the heavy weight of his torso. He hovered above Jeyne, his green eyes hooded with a darkening lust. “Incredibly beautiful,” he sighed against her lips, dipping to kiss her. The girl sighed into his mouth and he pulled back smiling.

“Will you take this off?” she asked, her hands coming to the collar of his shirt.

“For you? Of course,” he leant back onto his haunches, unbuttoning the cuffs and tugging his arms out of the sleeves.

“And this?” she gripped his undershirt in her small fist. “I want to see you, please.”

Obie lifted his head from behind Jeyne’s shoulder - the look in his eye one of burgeoning concern rather than lust.

The scar. The blasted hideous thing that marred him neck to groin. If he could he would avoid it. But Jeyne was so sweet, and so endearing in her want for him. She had been brave thus far, why couldn’t he?

“Alright. But I must warn you, it’s not entirely pretty,” he lifted the white tank over his head, revealing the long pink and silvery scar.

To Jeyne’s credit she neither gasped nor looked repulsed by it. The only sign she noticed it as all was the widening in her eyes, and the slightly parting of her mouth. Her hand gently touched one section of the scar, feeling the raised ridge and the smooth tissue.

_“I’m dying without you, please! Please!”_

Petyr shut his eyes to the memory.

_“Oh god, Petyr! Petyr!” A flicker. “Petyr hold on!”_

He stopped her finger’s tentative exploration, with a gentle hand over her own.

“Let me have one secret to keep as my own,” he opened his eyes, the look in them communicating clearly this was not ground to tread this night. She nodded, removing her hands from his chest and instead moving them to sidle under his arms and find purchase on his back between his shoulder blades as he moved into position once more. His cock poised at her entrance.

A look shared with Obie and a nod to his beautiful little mouse, and he was pressing in. The pressure from her walls, and from Obie’s cock pressed underneath was almost too much to take. Almost.

With a loud grunt he fit in, up to the hilt, causing Jeyne clutch his back and whimper.

“Are you alright?” he whispered against her throat.

She licked her lips. “Uh huh.”

“Remember: gentle,” he said. To Jeyne, to Oberyn, it hardly mattered. He moved his hips back slowly, then pushed them back in. Jeyne let out a little mewl, her back arching up into Petyr, allowing Obie some wiggle room to catch her in the up swing.

Obie moaned pleasurable. A deep low rumble.

“Ride, Baby, ride,” he murmured.

And they were off.

It really was like riding a horse, a very coordinated, multi-limbed horse. But the gentle pace Petyr started them off with soon picked up pace, by Jeyne’s own encouragement. Every sigh and squeak and little pleasurable sound she made, Petyr endeavoured to recreate it on the next press. It was delightful, the way she clung to him and writhed, never once being relieved from the multitude of sensations coursing through her.

Petyr tried so hard to focus on her, on the contrast of her bright blonde hair against Obie’s tanned umber - the achingly moist pink of her lips, the reddening flush happening deep within the skin of her cheeks and upper chest. He tried to hard to pay attention to each sound she made, the sighs, the moans, the all out cries of immense pleasure.  
He wanted to be lost in it all, lost in her, lost in anything but the memory of red hair caught in a summer breeze, and a soft kiss stolen underneath a willows branches.  
 _“Softly, Petyr, softly.”_

“Hey you!” Oberyn snapped his fingers at either Amber or Monica. “C’me here,” he grunted, thrusting himself up in time with Petyr, maintaining the pace he dictated.

Amber got up first, walking over to Oberyn obediently.

“Sit on my face.”

A casual order, readily complied. Almost, Oberyn did not quite lose himself in her cunt just yet.

“You...” he pointed to Monica. “Grab my...my phone. Trouser pocket.”

Monica got up and quickly found the required phone, bringing it over to him.

Petyr lifted his head from Jeyne, breaking his intense focus, yet not faltering his rhythm.

“What are you doing?”

Obie smiled, kissing the inside of Amber’s waiting thigh.

“It’ll be funny.”

Petyr groaned, and not from the intense pleasure of the saddle.

“Quick, take a quick video of us. Send it to one of my contacts, by the name of Ellie.”

“You’re ex?”

“His wife,” Petyr sighed, enjoying the look of barely concealed shock on Monica’s face. “Ell is going to kill you, you know that, right?”

“I don’t care!” Obie sighed, now fully indulging his mouth with the busy task of eating Amber out.

Monica laughed, holding the camera in landscape mode to capture the entire debaucherous act. Petyr could barely slow down to be too worried. If they die, at least they went out with a bang.

He looked back down to Jeyne. Wide-eyes. Insensible with the experience of two men pounding their way inside her. Oh, that look alone was a treat.

He smiled at her, a hazy, lop-sided grin. The corners of her mouth lifted somewhat, and her hands tightened around his back.

He leant down and captured her lips with a kiss, sucking her upper lip between his teeth and worrying it a little. He vowed he would have those lips between his teeth earlier in the evening and by god he could not deprive himself of the pleasure now.

“Tell me you like this,” he whispered to her, lowly enough only she could hear.

“I...I...”

“Tell me this is everything you wanted.”

The tempo of his thrusts gained speed, sending them into a full on gallop.

Petyr grunted, squeezing his eyes shut, and nuzzling the side of her face with his nose. His back was wading with sweat. It was too much, too much, too much.

“Tell me this is everything.”

“Everything,” she said. “Everything, Everything!”

A flash of red hair crossed Petyr’s vision. He shot his eyes open. Jeyne, Jeyne, think of Jeyne.

“ _Petyr...I love you.”_

Monica finished the recording, and sent it off to Ellaria, dropping the phone unceremoniously so she could finger herself to the sinful display before her.

Jeyne’s cries became louder and more frequent, signalling she was getting close. Amber moaned, writhing herself on Obie’s face. It was happening. It was all happening all at once. And all Petyr could think about was red hair. Red hair. Red fucking hair. He wanted to lace that hair in between his fingers as he fucked her, fucked her from behind, fucked her in his office, in front of the window for the whole world to see. Look at it! Look at the world I’ve created! Look at all that I’ve achieved without you! Without you! Without you! Leave me! Leave me ghost! Leave me!

And just like that, he lost it. Cumming with a loud, luxurious moan as Jeyne clenched and squeezed and fell off the edge with him, her legs wrapping about him as she shook.

Obie was the only one who didn’t cum, though he seemed pleased anyway. Stilling his hips, and licking and sucking Amber till she came with a high-pitched whimper. Monica shortly after with a moan of her own. A whole group satisfied in one fell swoop.

Jeyne clung to him, arms and legs around him like ivy, and she felt wonderful and real in this moment. A weight had lifted off Petyr. Jeyne had been a surrogate for Petyr to fuck the ghost of twenty years ago away with. In this moment, he could do nothing but hold her naked, sweaty body against him and breath into the junction of her neck and shoulder.

When she finally relaxed he pulled back, looking down at her with a dazed, and rather boyish grin. A triumphant grin. A successful vanquishing.

He kissed Jeyne once more, a deep, tender, contented kiss. The kind of kiss one would bestow on their lover.

After disentangling themselves, Obie changed the record once more, and ordered the party reconvene itself in the bedroom, with another round of drink required.

At no point did Petyr stop to think about the red hair he had envisioned. How the shade was not quite the way it was in his childhood memories. Similar but not the same. And the ghost he had fucked in that imaginary office, in that imaginary world of his mind, was not the ghost of the girl he had loved twenty years ago, but the living spectre of an all-new creature, that had only just begun to haunt him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I’m a freak. 
> 
> :P
> 
> I have honestly never written that much smut in my life. But one must always have goals.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh Jesus lordy lordy...
> 
> I don't know what to say about this one...I went insane, had a party...got high and gave birth to this. 
> 
> I don't even remember what inspired this one. I think it started off with Petyr and Oberyn are fuckbuddies, Sansa somehow gets involved and go! Bam this is what you get. 
> 
> This is me, I think, writing a raunchy sex comedy...it will be a bit of a tonal roller coaster, because...ME!
> 
> Anyways. This is the third fic in my FIC PURGE of 2018! I don't know if there will be anymore but we're going to play with the ones we've got so far and see where they go and if they garner any interest. 
> 
> I'm still working on The Great Mockingbird so don't worry.
> 
> Love, Geek.


End file.
